She said it audibly, having learned long since that an audible prayer was a concentrated one. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. ’ ‘Then do it,’ Melusine said with impatience. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Promise me.
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